Isn't. That. Glitters. All. Gold.
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- Four hours behind West Coast USA
- Writing Levels
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Fantasy, Libertine, Medieval, Science Fiction, Drama, Psychological
Pawn; D2 -> D4
War fires spread ominously on the horizon, spilling smoke over a burned sunset. The plumes sighed hot red like bellows into the twilight heavens. Roj hardly gave it a thought. He glanced up now and then from the rabbit hole he poked with a stick. He was too young to be given a sword - by one year and six moons. Pus. He made an unruly face.
"Come along Roj-!" called a familiar voice.
The call of big Harm was unmistakable.
Roj spun around to see five mounted men crest the tufted hillock due east. Horses kicked up dust, making them hard to see. Beyond the men spewed further pillars of smoke, nearly invisible against the encroaching night. Roj didn't recognise anyone else. The strangers rode into view and continued past. Three bearded men and one greenhorn, all in autumn linens since the leaves had only turned last moon. One of the strangers spat to one side, eyeing Roj. Roj spat on the ground defiantly. Another man held back the first, who riled in protest and indignity. Roj smiled to himself.
Harm approached Roj with a grin.
"Get your things, you ought to be back before dark."
"I didn't find anything."
"Then take this," Harm bent down to hand Roj a leather dragonfly spinner. "Run and tell the others the forward scout is moving out tonight. But don't tell your ma I got that for you."
"Did you steal it?" Roj turned the toy over in his hands.
"No, because I left them something as a trade," Harm said with a wink. "Now off with you!"
Roj returned Harm's grin. He ran with arms spread full horizontal like a dragonfly, zig-zagging back toward camp and the banner of the White Crane that flew above.